Page 17 of Practically Magic

When I get off after, it feels like the entire world has transformed into a spinning carnival ride. I can barely read the numbers on my phone screen, but there’s no denying that Ryan hasn’t texted me and it’s been over an hour. I am debating what to do when the crowd seems to part, and I see him playing the carnival ring-toss game. Is he trying to win me a giant plush Frankenstein as an apology? That would be so cute—except when he wins, he hands the stuffed animal off to Ali Meadows. She squeals and throws her arms around him. He whispers something in her ear, then the two turn and head for the Ferris wheel. Together. When he puts his arm over her shoulders, his POP wristband catches the light.

My POP wristband. The one I bought for him.

He was never going to go on any rides with me. He just wanted to save thirty-four bucks.

The realization sends me to the nearest garbage can. As the world finally crashes back to stillness, I puke my guts out.

A hand manifests in my hair, gently holding it back, another on my back, rubbing it softly. “Breathe,” comes a gentle voice.

Harry. When I whimper and stand, she wipes at my mouth with a napkin and offers me a ginger ale. I don’t ask how she knows what happened. It doesn’t matter how she knows; I’m just relieved that she knows, that my sister is here, and while everything is awful, if she’s here, she’ll make it better.

“What do I do now?” I ask as the tears start to fall.

“We’re going home.” She hands me a tissue, smoothly accepting the soda back.

“We? It’s only nine o’clock. You and Chris still have—”

“Chris will understand,” Harry says, putting a gentle arm around me, leading me away from the flashing lights and the happy screams of the carnival goers. “Sisters come first.”

We never utter Ryan’s name. But on Monday morning in class, when he sits down next to me, his chair somehow shatters, breaking into a million pieces and sending him hurtling to the floor. When I get home, Harry is sitting at the kitchen table on a plastic folding chair from the basement. I don’t ask what happened to her chair, but she has a splinter in her thumb, and the woodpile on the porch is twice as tall.

6

Mystic Hollow Community Page

New post from Mayor Croft: This is your mayor again. A gentle reminder, people, that shaving cream and toilet-papering the mayoral home will not be tolerated this Halloween. I promise you, fellow Mystic Hollow residents, I will find the Toilet Paper Bandit of 2025!

Just after seventh period, the intercom crackles.

“Katherine Hadley to the principal’s office,” comes Mr. Aceste’s voice, and that’s when the panic hits me. I try to focus on breathing deep as I walk down the halls, shaking the nervous energy out of my hands, but it doesn’t help when I hear one of the secretaries talking about the thousands of dollars of damage caused by the sprinklers. I stop at my locker to pick up the brownies I baked last night—Laney and I brainstormed and decided it was my last chance to butter him up, literally.

When I get to the office, Mr. Aceste’s secretary is on the phone. I had been hoping for her sympathy, since she always secretly lets me call my mom if I’ve forgotten my laptop charger, but she won’t even look at me. Okay, so I’m doomed. Principal Aceste’s door is closed, and I can’t imagine sitting in one of the chairs he keeps by his office, so I wander around instead. The photocopy machine is whirring at a hundred beats a minute in the adjacent room, and just outside the windows the hallways are packed with students going to the last period. I’ve been sweating all day waiting for this meeting. In third period, Zach wouldn’t even look at me, but just kept pushing his glasses higher and higher on his nose so I think he was nervous too. I’m not sure when he’s getting called down, but he’s not here. Maybe he talked to Principal Aceste at Witches Brew after I left. Maybe he’s off the hook.

Then I hear yelling in the principal’s office. Everyone in the office stops what they’re doing and trades worried looks. I can actively feel my armpits dampen. Principal Aceste is not a yeller, so this has to be bad. The next thing I know, the door flies open and Zach comes striding out, his face pale.

Crap.

“Send her in,” Principal Aceste calls in a strangled voice. “Now!”

“Go ahead, dear,” his secretary says, not looking up from her desk.

Perhaps “doomed” was optimistic. I glance after Zach, but he’s already halfway down the hallway, so what can I do but take a deep breath and walk into the principal’s office to face the music? Principal Aceste is facing the window so I can only see the back of his head. The office walls are filled with Red Sox memorabilia. On his desk sits a waterlogged chemistry textbook. It’s leaking a river down toward his keyboard.

I wince. “Good afternoon, Principal Aceste. I made your favorite. Peanut butter brownies.” I place them on his desk, my nerves making my hands shake.

He spins around in his chair, and suddenly my stomach explodes with hunger. In fact, I’m suddenly really tempted to grab one of the brownies that I made just for him.

“Thanks, Kat.” He pulls one of the brownies out and eats it immediately, and suddenly the ravenous beast of my stomach goes quiet. I pat my belly. That was weird. Then he checks his watch.

“I’m certain I told them to be here at two.”

I freeze. So, he did call them. Even though I stayed up late last night baking, my parents didn’t talk to me about it at all. Did they not get the call? They would have said something to me. I’m sure of it. “They’re on their way,” I lie. “But that’s good because I was hoping to talk to you alone first. I really want to apologize.”

“Me too,” he says. “I’m sorry if you just heard yelling. Zach and I just got into it about last night’s World Series game.” His gray eyes blink as he stares at me, and I slowly breathe out. Of course. Zach is definitely a Yankees guy. “But we did also talk about the damage.” He prods the slushy pages on his desk. “I have a meeting after school with the PTO about funds. What am I going to tell them?”

“That it was all an accident?” I say hopefully, balling my hands at my sides. “Principal Aceste, you know me. I would never cause a fire in school. I love this place! I want to be valedictorian next year. Please, just tell me what I can do to make things right.” I push the brownie tray closer to him. Maybe he’s just hangry. But it’s not like I could feel his hunger earlier—Harry can’t even do that. My mom, maybe, but I’m not my mother. “This really was a mistake.” I draw in a slow breath. “My mistake. Not Zach’s.”

“And what exactly happened?” Principal Aceste asks as he helps himself to another brownie. “I was speaking with Mr. Powell, and he told me that the Bunsen burner malfunctioned, but we just bought those last year. And when I pressed him about it, he just kept saying he didn’t know. I need an answer, and I need to know if our lab equipment is unsafe.”